Option 819,634
by EAlove
Summary: "Chess is just a game. Real people aren't pieces. And you can't assign more value to some of them than to others. Not to me. Not to anyone." Just my take on one of the options which could have been shown in If-Then-Else. MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH.


2003

"I don't think that anyone is worth more than anyone else. I don't envy you and the decisions you're going to have to make. And one day I'll be gone, and you'll have no one to talk to. But if you remember nothing else, please remember this. Chess is just a game. Real people aren't pieces. And you can't assign more value to some of them than to others. _Not to me_. Not to anyone."

The Machine observed as her Admin stood up from the table where he had been playing a game of chess with Her, and followed him through cameras as he left the park.

2014

EVALUATING STRATEGIES...

It had been one of the possibilities; Finch going to get the code into the computer system to get them access, while Root went with him to protect him. But it had ended in both a failure to complete their primary mission and to make the assets escape. Worse, this option had lead to her Admin's death. A new option was selected.

The Machine contacted the only one among her assets who could hear Her at the time.

"Got it," Root nodded before she took her pass from around her neck. It would prove to be unnecessary to her now. She handed the briefcase to Harold as she spoke. "When we open that door, turn left, Harold. You and Reese are going to the server room to hack the system and stabilize the market. Reese will protect you while you write that code down. Fusco and I are going to secure our escape route. We'll cut the tension cable to the elevator's lock."

Finch looked at Reese somewhat relieved not to have to follow the woman anymore. Not that he didn't like her; she had come to prove her usefulness over time. Although, Finch hadn't forgotten her kidnapping him. It had been hard to come to terms with it, but with Reese's help, Finch had found himself walking outside like before. Then they had kept her captive in the Library. And when she helped them, Finch had decided to let her help them with a bit more freedom. And the Machine seemed to have taken an interest in her, so, Finch had only hesitated for so long. Reese had been reluctant - he had never forgotten the cut in Finch's hand or the drugs she had administrated Finch when he had been with her. But he had followed Finch's lead nonetheless, trusting Harold like he always did. But never did he let his guard down, not even when Root wasn't that close to Harold. He didn't trust her to protect him. Now, Reese thought it was the best option to have him and Finch go together. Whatever happened, Reese would protect Finch with his own life.

John looked at Harold, relief, determination and a bit of fear for his partner's safety flashing in his eyes. Finch understood each of Reese's emotions, as his own were too, stripped bare in his eyes. It was an understanding between the two of them; _I won't let you die today_.

Finch and Reese got up, followed by Fusco and Root, crouching to avoid bullets as best as they could. Once they were lined against the wall, John glanced one last time in his partner's direction, then at Root, nodding curtly. Reese and Root barged through the door, firing straight at their targets. The last man was brought down by Fusco. Harold followed last, holding the briefcase tightly in his hand. It was only just the beginning; there was no time for relief yet.

"See you on the other side," Fusco said as he rushed behind Root, running out of the two other men's sight at a turn in the corridor.

"Let's go," Reese whispered as he placed a reassuring hand on Finch's elbow and pressed him forward gently.

They walked as quietly and as fast as possible; Finch following behind Reese who stopped at every corner to make sure there wasn't anyone waiting for them. They came across very few agents on their way to the control room, but it wasn't a reassuring thought. In fact, it meant the most skilled and prepared agents were gathering and coming for them soon. John rushed Harold into the room, locking the door behind them.

The room was open; a corridor ran through it on the perpendicular of the door, and there was another room, larger, behind huge hard drives that lied in the middle, separating the two rooms. There was too much space, too many openings and Reese couldn't watch everywhere at once. It made him feel like a rabbit in a clearing, an easy prey to hunters lurking in the shadows. There was a long table in the center of the first room, with computers and people typing away on their keyboards. They immediately stopped in their tracks when the two men entered the room in a hurry. Reese held his gun at them and ordered them away from the computers, giving Harold an open access to the system. Finch set the briefcase down on the side of the table and started typing on the closest of the keyboards. It was an easy task for him; he hacked the firewall in less time it takes to say 'computer' and installed a back access for the Machine. Once it was done, he closed the briefcase and turned to his partner.

SECONDARY OBJECTIVE:  
PREVENT FINANCIAL CRISIS  
COMPLETE

"It's done." A fragile smile at the corner of his lips met Reese's eyes. "For a second, John, I thought all might be lost..."

Harold's last words died in his throat; all colours were drowned out of his face and he started past John's shoulder with horror on his face and fear in his eyes. Reese's heart stopped at the sudden change on his partner's face. Finch losing his composure could mean only one thing.

Danger.

"John, watch out-!"

That was all Harold had time to shout before a group of armed agents barged into the room from behind John and fired their weapons. No doubt that they had the order to kill on sight. It all happened so quickly that Reese didn't have time to process what was happening and worse, didn't have time to put himself in front of the bullet that hit Harold straight in the chest. The agents surrounded them, but Reese didn't care.

It was like time itself had stopped, as through even it was compassionate to John's pain. Finch fell against the side of the table, barely keeping himself up with a hand on the table. His knees buckled under him, but he hadn't yet realized what had happened. Shock was written all over his face; his eyes were wide and his mouth slightly agape. Blood started to stain his jacket, and it was the sight of the red liquid that brought John out of his own in-shock state.

Reese threw his weapon to the ground, rushed to his partner's side and eased him down. Harold lied motionless on the floor of the dusty room, his head cradled in John's trembling arms. Neither of them could believe it; it couldn't be happening. After years of working together, they had gotten used to each other's company, to the point that if one of them went missing, the other wouldn't be able to fill the hole in their life. Finch couldn't go; he couldn't leave Reese alone, not after saving him, giving him a purpose and a life. John would never forgive him.

Harold looked up as best as he could, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He opened his mouth to speak, but blood bubbled up between his lips before drops went rolling on his chin. The pain, which had been dull while he was in shock, was becoming sharper as Finch realized what had happened. He was going to die. He was _dying_.

It was useless, John knew, but he pressed a hand as hard as he could against the wound on his partner's chest. It had torn the flesh and made its way very close to the heart, there was no chance of survival if they didn't get to the hospital in the following minutes. But they didn't have the luxury. All the ex-soldier could do was stay at his friend's side for the rest of his painful, shortened life. And if that didn't break John's heart, what Harold did next could very well kill him on the spot.

Unable to speak, Harold used his rapidly weakening, and unresponsive muscles to move his hand upwards to touch John's face. Despite the grimness of the moment, the touch held all the love and affection Harold could muster. It was such a simple touch, a caress so tender it bought John to tears. He had his friend in his arms, whose life was fading away through his fingers and he couldn't do a damn thing! Blood was seeping through his fingers, already staining a good part of Harold's jacket, making it turn from a nice brown-ish to a dark, horrifying black. Even with all the good will in the world, Reese couldn't get all the blood back into his friend and close the wound. He wished he had taken the bullet for Harold. It was his job and he had messed up. Again.

"I'm so sorry, Harold... It should have been me," he whispered, his voice only a rasp as his throat was constricted with tears and pain. It was a miracle he could still talk.

Finch tried to speak again, but he only managed to choke up some more blood. He didn't look scared, only lost, disorientated. It was an image coming straight up from the worst of John's nightmares. It was exactly what he had had in his mind every night when Harold had been kidnapped by Root. And now it was there, it was real.

Harold shook his head as best as he could, but it only came up as a vague movement of his head. Of course he wouldn't hold Reese responsible for the situation. Of course it would never be John's fault. But in John's mind it was. The blood literally on his hands was also there metaphorically. Maybe it had even been there from the start. To Harold, however, John had never been anything else but a protector. His only regret was that he had never been able to make him understand how much of a good man he was.

Finch's eyes gazed over John's face; his eyes were half closed as he barely contained his tears, the corners of his mouth were turned down in a grimace. If it was the last thing Finch would see, he was sad to know the expression of pain was there by his fault. But he couldn't focus his eyes on anything anymore; he looked over John's shoulder, barely noticing the soldiers around, and up to the ceiling.

"Harold? Harold!"

John's voice sounded so far away, like from a dream, and Finch couldn't focus on him. He was so tired after all, maybe if he could just take a short nap... John couldn't blame him if he was to close his eyes, if only for a second. The pain was dull in his mind now; all he wanted was to rest.

When Finch's pupils disappeared behind his eyelids, Reese knew it was the end. He had known the moment the bullet had pierced a hole through his partner's chest, but he hadn't quite processed the thought. Now, with Finch motionless in his arms, his breathing shallow and uneven, his eyes closed and blood still flowing down his lips, it all felt too real. The truth hit him like a train at full speed when Harold's hand fell from where it had been resting against John's cheek. John caught it in his own bloody and shaky one before it hit the ground. He held his partner's hand tightly against his chest, unconsciously rubbing circles with his thumb on the palm, hoping against hope to bring Harold Finch back by the sheer strength of his pain. He could _feel_ his partner's life leaving his body.

"Please, Harold, stay. I can't do it without you. You know it."

John's voice was barely above a whisper and his last words got caught in his throat. There were so many things Reese wanted to tell him, so many things he had waited for too long to say; and now it was too late. He had never realized their ends could be so close. Or that Finch would retire before him, thus leaving him all alone. Shaw and Root would never be able to make up for his absence. Finch was essential to Reese.

Harold's eyelids fluttered as he tried with the last of his strength to open his eyes. His blue-grey eyes were fixed on Reese's bright blue ones as he finally let his last words dance through his lips. "Live." One last order, one last hope, and Harold closed his eyes for good. His last weak breath tickled the tears at the corner of John's eyes and he went limp in his friend's arms.

John bent down over Harold's body, buried his face in the crook of the stiff neck he used to spend hours wondering how good it would feel to rest his face against. In his last seconds with Finch in his arms, Reese felt all the sadness he had once felt when Jessica had died. He had almost forgotten how strong such emotion was, and how violent it could be. His eyes stung with tears as he looked up at the barrels of guns pointed towards him. The agents had been compassionate enough to give him his last moments with the shorter man. But this was their one and only mistake.

John placed a gentle kiss on Harold's forehead, then laid his body on the ground with reverence.

CHANCE OF SURVIVAL:  
Admin: 0,00001%  
Primary asset: 12%

The Machine watched through a camera placed on the ceiling, as John Reese stood up in the center of the circle of soldiers. Were the Machine able to decipher emotions on humans' faces, She would have noticed the murderous glare in Reese's eyes and all the signs of distress, grief and anger. Samaritan's agents held their guns to his head but found that they didn't have time to do anything else as Reese launched himself at the first soldier in front of him, effectively knocking him down. From the ground, he tripped a soldier and pulled another one down, using him as a shield against the bullets the others fired.

The group kept fighting for a few more minutes until Reese was the last one standing. Although he didn't stand for long; after exhaling, tired from his fight, he dropped down to his knees silently, his head hovering over Finch's body. He had used all his energy in the fight, and losing Harold had left him with no will at all to move or do anything else but stay by his partner's side. John reached for Harold's jacket and grabbed the fabric tightly in his fists; he couldn't let go now. He was scared, afraid of what he might become without Finch. How could he possibly continue on without him? He was at a loss of what to do. Just like when he had lost Jessica, he had let himself spiral down to his own darkness and it had taken Harold Finch to get him back into the light. And now, what was he to do?

The answer came in the form of Root and Fusco, who barged into the room. They had managed to get the elevator working, but receiving no answer from neither Finch nor Reese, had decided to come to their help. Unfortunately, it was too late. They stopped dead when they saw the scene in front of them; Finch was motionless of the floor, lying in a pool of blood while Reese wasn't in a much better shape either. The Man in the Suit had never appeared so vulnerable and fragile to Fusco, who looked at him wide-eyed; he was as bloody as one could be and surrounded by bodies of whimpering men. Root was shaken by the sight of the man she had come to understand and appreciate with time. He had been an anchor to her and the creator of her God. How could he possibly die? It was impossible.

Fusco was the first one to emerge from the collective stupor which seemed to have taken over the group. He kneeled next to John, shook him by the shoulders – which earned him an empty-eyed glance – but managed to pull him out of the room. Calling Root after him – the woman had a hard time taking her eyes off Harold's body-, they finally left the dreadful room.

A camera outside watched as three people walked out of the building safely.

OPTION 819,634  
SECONDARY OBJECTIVE:  
PREVENT FINANCIAL CRISIS  
COMPLETE

PRIMARY OBJECTIVE:  
EVACUATE ASSETS  
CHANCE OF FAILURE: 27%

CHANCE OF SURVIVAL:  
Admin: 0,00001%  
Analog interface: 87%  
Primary asset: 53%  
Secondary asset: 92%

SIMULATION ACTIVITY

BEST OPTION AVAILABLE

CHANCE OF ASSETS SURVIVAL: 58%

OPTION SELECTED

CONTACTING INTERFACE…

* * *

I was in need of some Rinch, so yeah. Plus I was really surprised not to see an option with Finch and Reese together, like, seriously, they're the main characters and Root and Shaw have more screen time together. This episode could have been so perfect, had the writers put Reese instead of Root in the first strategy. But well, at least it gave me an idea to get back into writing fics. I'm quite surprised I haven't seen a fic like this one before too. Unless I missed it.  
Anyways, hope you enjoyed.  
Also, 819,634 = HAROLD.

(For those of you who follow me for 'The Tale of the Wolf' and 'One Strange Number', I'm so sorry for the delay. I had chapters all written, but the internal drive of my computer burnt out so I lost everything. But I'll get back to it!)  
And my work hasn't been proof-read, so I hope my English's still alright after such a long time.


End file.
